A Parisian Affair
by Inopportune Opportunist
Summary: "As long as I don't have to marry him, he can be as much the fool as he likes." Set in the 1920s. Slade/Raven


A ridiculously short Slade/Raven piece to do with my current fascination with the 1920s.

* * *

She flicks the bit off ash off the end of her cigarette before taking another drag, leant over the balcony's stone railing and staring off into the city's lights.

"That's an awful habit you know."

Unsurprised at his voice, the woman doesn't even appear to acknowledge the man standing behind her. He moves closer and she knows his hands are clasped behind his back in that silly way the military trained him into.

"Probably," she mutters, a trail of smoke leaking from her brilliantly red lips.

A large hand settles near her elbow on the railing and she glances slyly up at him, attempting to read the stony features of his face.

"I suppose you're done here then?"

She turns completely now, resting the small of her back on the stone barrier, one elbow supporting her weight behind her.

Another drag.

"I suppose…"

As she exhales, the cigarette drops and the ball of her foot crushes it into the ground.

He looks to her, brow raised with a slick, crooked smile twisting his lips.

"A shame," he says, "I really was beginning to enjoy Paris."

She lifts herself back and up onto the railing and watches as he watches. His eye drifts over her, making certain of her steadiness, ready to reach out and drag her from the edge if he must. As a good bodyguard should. And that is what he has been hired to do, what he's been doing since she was small. But she enjoys watching his eyes linger on her pale shoulders and her pert breasts, taking just a moment longer than might be considered appropriate between a protector and his charge. A shiver climbs up her spine.

"I'll be glad to be rid of him..." She explains, turning her head to observe the distant silhouette of some old building or another. Her hair, only so recently cropped, drifts up in the wind, reminding her of the scolding and punishment she's destined to find when they arrive back at the estate. She smiles triumphantly to herself; Arella will be furious.

"Of course. The boy's a bit of a fool, isn't he?"

She nods, inhaling deeply through her nose and letting her head drop back, eyes closed, basking in the peace of the moment.

"All well and good, I suppose. As long as I don't have to marry him, he can be as much the fool as he likes."

His hand lands on her knee, playing with the silky fabric against her pale skin and he snorts derisively. "Well and good for you, but not likely so for him. I can imagine the Daytons will absolutely slaughter him when he arrives home with the wrong woman on his arm."

"Hmmm…"

"But of course, we can't forget your father…"

One eye flickers open to stare back at him and she answers wryly, "Oh, but I'm simply the poor, innocent victim here, am I not? A lovely young woman scorned by the man she was promised to..."

"Innocent my ass," he scoffs.

"Well, you would know…"

He's smirking down at her again and she smiles knowingly.

"I would, wouldn't I?"

And his hand slips beneath her dress, sweeping aside the lilac fabric to brush against the softness of her thigh. She reaches up as his other hand settles at her back, pulling her toward him. Then her hands are sliding through his silver hair, loosening his eyepatch and their lips are pressed together, sweetly, then violently.

She knows she never could have had this with Gar, thinking back on the skinny blonde _boy_ and his skinny blonde lover, some air-headed bastard of the king of Markovia. At least she'd finally caught them at it, fucking in his hotel bed with the door left unlocked. Though, she'd known long before that.

And she was much happier now.

Things could go back to how they should be, and maybe it would be another year or so before a new match could be made. It was only proper, time to grieve and all that. Should she play the emotional wreck, she wonders? Oh, but it would be too obvious.

The warm hand on her thigh makes its way into her underclothes, shocking her out of her thoughts. He's noticed then, that she hasn't been paying attention. Jealous man…

She looks up to meet his gaze but the feeling of his fingers just _there_ makes her back arch and her eyelids flutter and she gasps. His lips travel down her neck in the slightest of butterfly kisses and her toes curl in pleasure.

"Raven," he whispers into her collarbone.

Her fingers clench in his hair and the black eyepatch flutters away from his face, taken by the wind to fall from the balcony. A small hand drifts down from his silver hair to cup his cheek, just beneath the ruined skin surrounding where his right eye should be. She opens her eyes fully to gaze up at him.

"Perhaps we should take this inside," he points out, staring deeply into her eyes with his own, singular slate-gray orb.

"Let's," she agrees breathlessly.

* * *

Hopefully I'll find the time and energy to post something else in the future... Or perhaps a story surrounding this piece. Please tell me what you think!


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